


i would die for you in secret

by weonderlust



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Idols, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drinking, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Pining, Renjun is a dramatic brat, almost forgot that tag, use of prescription pills
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:08:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27878121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weonderlust/pseuds/weonderlust
Summary: “Hm?” Renjun giggles, like this is one sick joke that Yukhei couldn’t understand even if he tried, bringing a finger up to bite at his nail.“Stop that,” Yukhei tugs his hand away before lightly gripping his palm, “You just said, onlive, that it didn’t matter if you liked girlsorguys.”(Or: Renjun is a solo artist and Yukhei is his manager.)
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas
Comments: 20
Kudos: 138





	i would die for you in secret

**Author's Note:**

> NOTES/ADD. TAGS:  
> 1) this is an over-exaggeration of celebrity life so there will be mentions of **diet + unhealthy eating** , **drinking** and **suicide** (though the last one is only implied in one scene)  
> 2) for characterization: i wanted to write a fic that’s out of my comfort zone as a way to ~challenge myself~ so take this fic with a grain of salt  
> 3) there are mentions of past!hencas bc i love triple huang 💗___💗
> 
> don’t hesitate to notify me on what else i should add! i hope u like my one last hurrah for 2020 :]

In 2017, Wong Yukhei watched Huang Renjun’s debut music video in his senior year of high school. It feels close to love at first sight, but not quite.

In the back of his mind, he twists the world _love_ around, memorizing each curve of the letters like a writer carefully choosing their next step on paper, and decides it feels like what spring does to flowers and lovers. He decides Renjun could be his raison d’être, his muse.

And so, he writes.

* * *

Love • [luhv] **noun.**

The theme for his debut stage is vibrant, ergo you start thinking of him in blooming multicolours, an artist’s mosaic window illuminated by heaven’s sunlight.

You’ve learned that people perceive a lot of things differently sometimes; how _sky_ could either mean bright blue with cotton-candy clouds, or grey as the shadows of shipwrecks, or summer-sunrise orange basked by young romantics.

That’s how you see him for the first time on television: like victory, like magic, like laughter; coloured in colours only you could recognize in times when you learn of the different ways to make a wish, to daydream.

* * *

In 2023, Renjun finds the most contentious time to be on his knees.

Ten minutes past seven in the morning, Yukhei leans his back hip on his kitchen counter. _His_ , to reaffirm, because it’s always been like this: last night, Renjun had once again forced aching muscles to repeat a dance routine up to dead of the night, and Yukhei had to drag him to his apartment—not Renjun’s own dorm, because he’d start complaining about not wanting to go home; mewling like a kitten, demanding attention and Yukhei has no choice but to _give in_.

Physically, Yukhei’s here, with Renjun on his knees and pulling his sweatpants down. He’s here, with Renjun kissing at his cock, and cooing about how big he is, as if he hasn’t seen it more than the both of them could admit, as if he haven’t gagged and spat on it and -

“Xuxi-ge,” Renjun stares up at him, anticipation sparkling in his eyes, “Focus on me. _Only_ me.”

Yukhei manages to choke out, embarrassingly, “ _Eor_ gh.”

So: physically, he’s here, with Renjun dragging his tongue along the veins of his cock as a shitty and unironic excuse for breakfast (“I’m on a diet, Xuxi-ge, but the company trainer never said anything about dick being off-limits!”), though if he’s going to be incredibly honest: right now, Yukhei is waist-deep in a frothy and mousseux type of blue-green ocean—one so cleanly transparent he sees his feet buried in white sand. Right above him proudly stands a fruit tree with branches hanging off a few inches from his head.

He doesn’t know what fruits they are but they smell exquisite, look golden-ripe complementing the beautiful vintage-rose leaves surrounding them, and Yukhei’s mouth waters at their existence.

But -

There is a limit.

When he reaches for one, the branches pull away immediately. When he cups his hands in the body of water, it evaporates right off his palms before he could take a sip, sizzling as they go.

When he brackets a hand around Renjun’s hollowed cheeks, it feels so -

_unreal_.

“You like that, right?” Renjun’s words are muffled and Yukhei tries not to hastily thrust his hip into the warmth of his mouth, tries not to look too desperate (rule number-something to being Renjun’s manager: remember that _you’re_ supposed to be in control). “You like having me wrapped around you, huh? A big boy like you is always whining for me, how _embarrassing_.”

Yukhei groans at that, and Renjun—like the winner he is—grins around his cock. Something about it is what does it for him. Flustered, he taps Renjun on the cheek, and as if it’s mannerism, Renjun parts his swollen lips. The idol sticks his tongue out, and Yukhei whines—coming all over; his breathing becoming shallow and his heart hammering inside his ribs.

“You always come so much,” Renjun licks at the string of cum splattered on his lips as he stands up. Yukhei furrows his eyebrows, watching Renjun slowly blink when he realizes there was some clinging on his eyelids, too. Grabbing a paper towel, Yukhei carefully wipes his face for him, and while he does, Renjun chases his wrists and grips them in between bony fingers, “Come on, hurry up, Xuxi-ge! We’re going to be late. Donghyuck is going to kill us. Kill _me_ , specifically.”

“It’s a possibility,” Yukhei laments at the mental image of Renjun’s makeup artist jabbing him in the chest with a make-up brush. He tosses the used paper towel into the trash bin, grimacing as it makes a _splosh_ sound. “Well, we wouldn’t be late if you didn’t—”

“ _Breakfast is the most important meal of the day_ ,” Renjun sing-songs to the tune of the Spongebob Squarepants episode he had watched half-asleep in the back of Yukhei’s car on the way home last night. “Plus, you like having me full, riiiight?” Renjun bites at his ear, before pressing butterfly kisses along his collarbone.

Yukhei wants to say _yes, I do like you full—with big meals and no guilt in your eyes when you crave to fill up another plate_ , but instead he lifts Renjun’s chin up gently, patting his hair down (his bed-head is always ever so endearing, and it serves as a reminder that he will never wake up picture-perfect as the tabloids want him) and smiles, “Dress warmly, yeah? We’ll stop by at McDonalds for breakfast.”

Renjun hesitates for a moment, and Yukhei hates it, because he’s probably worrying if that’ll fuck up his diet. But then he goes, “Alright,” before nipping at his nose one last time and bouncing off to Yukhei’s bedroom, mumbling about borrowing another of his hoodies again.

* * *

Yukhei doesn’t want to seem intimidated but it does little to salvage his impression when he’s sitting up straight, his knees pressed together and his hands folded politely on his lap.

The leather couch he’s sitting on feels incredibly uncomfortable and it doesn’t help that he can feel the beads of sweat on his hairline. Long legs are trapped, and the space between the couch and the glass coffee table in front of him feels non-existent. He tries not to move too much, make any sound, or touch anything because although it’s been two months since he moved to work at DREAM Entertainment, this is the first time he’s ever been called up to the CEO’s office.

Chenle has his back to him, phone tucked in between neck and shoulder, as he slides the glass showcase open and brushes delicate fingers along the various awards and trophies displayed.

Yukhei knows it must have been a great pain for his artists to earn those, and he understands the pride he carries for them. Even when the CEO is busy on a phone call, if Yukhei imagines it well enough, he can see Chenle smiling devilishly at him in the reflection of the glass.

Gulping _inaudibly_ (a behavior he’s practiced and gradually perfected over the years of working in the industry), Yukhei turns his head away to focus instead on the large wet cup of dalgona coffee placed on Chenle’s office desk, to the large fake potted plant decorated in the left corner, to the gigantic poster of Triple J on his right, to the platinum and gold albums framed and pinned up on the walls -

Chenle hangs up on the phone and turns back around, leather chair squeaking under his weight, to face Yukhei.

“Good morning, Mr. Wong, I’m glad you came,” he greets (Yukhei thinks back to the email he opened just last night—how he read through it with a cup of instant ramen in his hands, then sighing, and sighing, and sighing). “Let’s get to business, shall we?” Chenle grins, and Yukhei swallows the lump in his throat. (He also needs his air-conditioner to be fixed soon, and the dishes he left in the sink this morning haven’t been cleaned yet. He’ll get right to those after this. _After this_.) Nodding, he tries to match Chenle’s smile. The CEO beams, “Alright! How long have you been working with idols?”

“Three years, sir,” Yukhei answers, hands clammy with sweat, “One as a bodyguard, and two as a manager.”

“Bodyguard, huh,” Chenle leans forward, chin placed on the palm of his hand as he eyes Yukhei up and down. He hums, and Yukhei bites down his tongue to stop himself from explaining that he wouldn’t lie about that on his curriculum vitae. Not when an artist could be as valuable as a diamond. “Interesting. Why did you leave your former company?”

Yukhei catches himself before he could reminisce about it, about him. “There was a slight misunderstanding—”

“A scandal?” The question comes out barreling out of seemingly unforgiving lips set in a straight line. Yukhei inhales then exhales, reminds himself that Chenle is one of the most successful CEOs in the entertainment industry and all he wants is to ensure his artists will be alright in the hands of another.

“No, sir. No scandals,” Yukhei’s voice shakes a little but he inhales again, tries not to feel like he’s a mere bug trapped in a spider’s web. “One of the members was caught dating, uh, _before_ the media knew thankfully, and I was… given the choice to leave the company due to my carelessness. It was— It was my mistake, yes.”

He understands Chenle’s bluntness.

A scandal leading to a disbandment is a manager’s worst nightmare, and if not taken care properly? An incompetence like that could only land the manager with a visible sign that says _Unskilled_ hanging above their head and a permanent stain on their application. They’d be forced to find another job in a different field as no companies would take them in ever again.

“Did they renew their contracts?”

“Yes.”

“So it was only you who left.”

Yukhei counts to three. “Yes.”

“Have you ever wanted to be something other than a manager, Yukhei?”

The question is startling. The spider has come too close before he already knew it. Nonetheless, he answers, “Well, I dreamt of being a writer once.”

“I see,” Chenle nods, opening his drawer to take out a thick binder and pulls out what Yukhei knows is his contract. There’s two knocks on the door and without looking up as he flips to the last page, Chenle says, “Perfect timing. Come in.”

The door opens.

Yukhei’s first impression of Renjun is that he’s untouchable.

(This came about sometime during high school. Yukhei had fallen asleep on his couch after coming home, playing whatever show that was on television on low volume to doze off to—only to wake up to Renjun’s debut stage performance played right in front of him. Yukhei remembers colourful sets, glittery make-up and a kitten-like voice. He remembers knowing they were worlds apart, and that was absolute.)

Something about Renjun brings an air of intimidation wherever he goes and now, the CEO’s office is only big enough to spare Yukhei a few seconds before he’s engulfed in all that is Renjun. If he thinks about, this is the first time he’s ever _properly_ looked at the idol: honey-blonde hair dyed fresh for his comeback, black leather jacket and a smile plastered on his face as he greets Chenle. He looks a little different from the billboard posters and magazines and fansite photos.

A little realer, if Yukhei may.

See, Yukhei knows _of_ him—knows of all the CFs he’s done and shows he’s been on as a guest, his number one singles topping charts every time, fawned by staff and other idols alike, cited by Korean media to be one of the most quintessential rising artists in the industry, his newest comeback album released just last week.

But when Renjun’s eyes eventually drift to him, everything feels so far off than he’d imagine.

Even now, to him, Renjun is unreachable.

_Damn_.

“Renjun,” Chenle starts, “This is Wong Yukhei.” From the corner of his eye, Yukhei can sense Renjun take stock of him. He feels defenseless under the stare. “Tomorrow onwards, he’s your new manager.”

Awkwardly, Yukhei stands up and extends his hand for a handshake. A ‘Let’s work well’ is ready, sitting on his tongue. He’s done this once, he’ll do it again. It’s not a big deal, and he won’t treat it as such -

But then, Renjun laughs. He _laughs_. The sound falls insincere on Yukhei’s ears and he embarrassingly drops back his hand as Renjun doubles in fake laughter, leaning forward as he clutches at his waist.

“That’s so funny, CEO-nim!” _What is?_ “Is - is this a late April Fools’ joke?”

Chenle sighs. “Renjun, we’ve talked about this.”

Once, Yukhei wondered how a solo artist would look when they’re angry. Idol groups are different: they have each other to throw knives at, but they also have each other to help with bandaids later on.

Solo artist Huang Renjun, debuted at the tender age of 16 and already had Asia in the palms of his hands by the age of 18, looked like this: Doll-like face melting into a canvas of raw anger, jaw clenched and fists balled up. He’s bonafide rage when he spits out, “It’s not funny.”

Chenle sighs again. Yukhei makes the mistake of looking at Renjun in the eyes when he sharply glares at his direction.

“I’m sorry, CEO-nim, but no,” Renjun sneers, voice tight, eyes narrowed and Yukhei finds himself tangled in a thick cobweb, unable to move. The only evidence that tells him he’s alive and here and experiencing all of this is the feeling of his ribs stuck in his throat. Renjun looks back at Chenle. “Mark has always been _my_ manager.”

Patient as ever, Chenle slowly taps at his desk. “Mark has been appointed to Triple J—”

“Triple J,” Renjun repeats. One, two, three seconds in silence pass and then Renjun is realizing. Pained disbelief clouds his face. It does not look pretty. He opens and closes his mouth a few times until he stammers, “You - You appointed Mark to Triple J. How could you do that… after - after…”

Before he knows what he’s doing, Yukhei blurts out, “I can take care of Triple J so Mark can stay with Renjun. I don’t mind.”

They’re just another idol group to manage. He’s heard of Triple J—debuted a year before Renjun and doesn’t really need that much guidance in this field. It’ll be a breeze, surely. The switch wouldn’t be so much of a drastic change and by the sound of it, Renjun must really trust this Mark. If Yukhei became his manager, it wouldn’t be the same. He knows.

(Making idols sad isn’t written in the contract.)

“Nonsense,” Chenle shakes his head, “I’ve made up my mind.”

The thing about watching hope being forcefully yanked out of Renjun’s entire being, like tree branches pulling away when Tantalus comes near a fruit, is this: it’s something Yukhei never wants to see again. For reasons that he will painstakingly wonder later on while washing his dishes, Yukhei reaches out for him.

“Renjun—” is all he could utter before the idol storms out of the office.

* * *

When Yukhei walks out of the CEO’s office, shoulders heavier than they felt walking in, he finally realizes the many, many, _many_ gold CDs with Renjun’s name on them decorating the corridor walls. They haunt him—the way Tantalus hungers for a fruit, for a sip of water and never, ever getting any.

Huh.

* * *

According to Greek mythology, sneaky king Sisyphus, who escaped Death twice, was punished to roll a boulder up a hill only to have it roll back to the very bottom every time he reaches the top, obliterating him on the way down. And worse—because he was already _dead_ , he’d regenerate to be condemned again and again and again -

Yukhei, as he knows it, is not dead. Yet.

The polished dance floor squeaks under Renjun’s high-top sneakers as he skips towards the phone one of the staff had lent him, cheekily waving good-bye to the camera, promising to go on live more often for his fans—then presses the corner of the screen.

The live video ends and Yukhei, as a force of habit, checks the phone a few times to make sure it _did_ end properly; to make sure the potential of something going miserably wrong doesn’t lurk. Nothing should cost Renjun his entire career, especially after he built it on sweat and young bones hardening after so many hours of dancing in front of an underground studio mirror.

However, Yukhei was just reaching the top of the hill when the boulder came back down. He pinches the space between his eyebrows, “What the hell was that?”

“Hm?” Renjun giggles, like this is one sick joke that Yukhei couldn’t understand even if he tried, bringing a finger up to bite at his nail.

“Stop that,” Yukhei tugs his hand away before lightly gripping his palm, “You just said, on _live_ , that it didn’t matter if you liked girls _or_ guys.”

Renjun scrunches his nose, a habit Yukhei notices he does every time he finds something he doesn’t like. “Are you saying I should lie to my fans?”

“What? No, that’s not what I meant—”

“Are you against me liking boys? Is that it?”

“No!” Yukhei yelps, “It’s not! Of course not. I don’t—I’m not— _you know_ , homophobic or anything. Love is love.” For a millisecond, he panics over the fact that he ruined _this_ —whatever the hell they have—but then Renjun lets out a _Kyaaa_ , smiling. Somehow, the problem concerning the live doesn’t feel like a big deal anymore. Renjun has that sort of witchcraft on him. It’s a little concerning. “I just need to make sure the media doesn’t use this against you.”

(Time, Yukhei learns just moments ago, moves differently in the face of disaster. Right before the boulder rolls down and annihilates him, everything slows down:

Renjun laughs, mouth-wide, head tilting upwards, dimples showing and the view is just so very, _very_ pretty. Yukhei knows there are thousands of fans watching him, but he feels something burn under his skin, something akin to pride, that they’re not here to witness _him_ so close in real-life from anywhere beyond the screens.)

“It slipped out of my mouth,” Renjun flops back on the floor and leans his body against the mirrored wall. “But it’s true—I’m not picky with my preferences.” _Why the hell are you telling me this?_ Yukhei wonders, sitting next to him, arms brushing against each other. “Did you know I fucked Mark?”

A yell reverberates throughout the dance room. Yukhei realizes it came from him. “You—!”

“I’m kidding!” Renjun accidentally knocks the back of his head against the mirror as he laughs. There’s a loud _thud_ but before Yukhei could even worry, Renjun snickers. “Xuxi-ge, you should’ve seen the look on your face, please. I mean—Mark helps me get off sometimes, well _helped_ … but we didn’t sleep with each other.” Renjun looks up at Yukhei, cheeks flushed pink, “Fun fact! I don’t kiss people I don’t fancy.”

They’re so close it feels _terribly_ intimate; the type of domesticity he’d seen in the movies Renjun watches when he’s getting his hair and makeup done (albeit not admitting to it).

Yukhei looks away to squint at the phone, checking again if it’s recording any of this - this _conversation_. “You and Mark…?”

“Are you surprised? I’m twenty-two and I get stressed.”

“I’m… more surprised that you like guys.” _A chance_ , Yukhei tells himself. Like Sisyphus coming back to life to push the boulder up again. There exists a chance that he and Renjun could be -

“Like I said, I don’t mind anyone.” Renjun’s eyes go soft. “It’s not going to be a problem, is it? This live.”

(“ _What’s your type?_ ” Renjun reads from the chat-box and Yukhei, despite himself, sits up just a little bit straighter from behind the phone. For a split second, Renjun’s eyes dart to where Yukhei is. The familiar fox-like grin appears. “I mean, I don’t mind girls or guys - oh! _How is your day? Love from the Philippines!_ My day has been just fine. _Mahal kita_ , right? I said that correctly, yeah?”)

“Probably not,” Yukhei half-lies, voice quieter. “News outlets barely pay attention to lives.”

“Good!” Renjun pulls him down by the collar and presses a sloppy kiss to his cheek. (Huh. So what was the moral of the myth?) “Anyways, what’s your type? None of that simple _cute and funny_ nonsense. Details, Xuxi-ge, _details_. I need them.”

* * *

Last night, when Yukhei had sent a message reminding Renjun of his schedule for the day and practically begged him to go to bed early, Renjun had sent a photo of himself: tongue strategically placed in between two fingers ( _i know i’m supposed to ease us into the convo / but can we try sexting / xuxi-ge helloooo / UR LEAVING ME ON READ? / i’ll beg / maybe call u daddy if u want_ 🙄😪😬), one eye closed in a wink.

Yukhei cracks open a can of cold beer, scavenging for comfort in his worn-out couch.

(Renjun had once complained about getting rug burn (fabric burn?) on his back and his neck aching from the time they had stumbled into the apartment after a cancelled photoshoot, made out and then fucked on said couch.

Afterwards, Yukhei had sarcastically apologized and fake-promised to buy a new one _specifically_ _for our sexy-fun couch times, your majesty_ , and Renjun had rolled his eyes, giggling before kissing him sweetly, and maybe Yukhei had become serious about buying a new sofa.

Maybe invest in some soft blankets. The Moomin-patterned ones, perhaps.)

In the photo, the piercing on Renjun’s tongue—one that he doesn’t wear in public because Chenle doesn’t recommend it—is glinting in the low dim of his nightlight. Yukhei replies with a _Make sure to take the piercing out before bed_. Renjun calls him instead.

“We are not sexting,” Yukhei answers.

Renjun lets out a Draco-like _Ooh_ because _of course_ only he’d pick it up as a habit from watching two and a half of the Harry Potter movies (“Too lazy to watch the rest,” he’d say but Yukhei knows it’s just him not having enough time in between dance practice and vocal lessons). “So you rather have phone-sex? I like how you think, Xuxi-ge! Or is it Daddy now?”

“No,” Yukhei shifts, trying to make minimal sounds so it doesn’t echo back to Renjun on the other side and have him thinking he’s actually hard from a dumb word, no way in hell - “Maybe not now. You’re supposed to sleep. Early schedule tomorrow.”

“Yeah, then, why are you still awake, hm? Managers get up early, too.”

“I don’t complain when my alarm actually goes off.”

Renjun hums—sending something scorching down Yukhei’s throat—before gasping in realization, giggling as he goes, “Wait, did you say ‘maybe not now’? Are you saying you _do_ wanna try it?”

“…If you’re into that?”

“Whoa.” Yukhei hears him move around, and the offset of Renjun being turned on right now is a little - “Wait, wait, _wait_. No. You can’t tell me to go to bed then say shit like that. I’ll— I’m kinda embarrassed, now.” Renjun whimpers and Yukhei suppress the urge to bring a hand down to where he’s starting to feel a throbbing in his nether regions. Fuck.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually _into_ that.”

“I’m going to die.”

“Be sure to resurrect at 8, at least,” Yukhei breathes out, biting his lip when he realizes he’s smiling. “Dance practice is at 9. I’ll pick you up whenever you’re ready.”

“You’re _mean_ , Xuxi-ge,” Renjun all but whines.

* * *

Three (“Because good _and_ bad things come in three,” Mark’s words, not Yukhei’s, for obvious reasons) months after Yukhei had officially signed the contract with Chenle and officially stamped the company’s name on his forehead for the world to see, Renjun had booty-called him at 2 a.m. whilst singing a horrendous drunken rendition of Ariana Grande’s discography _and_ sobbing about how his friends were absolute _traitors_ for debuting without him.

“Jesus, I didn’t know you were a lightweight,” Yukhei had huffed, flopping one of Renjun’s arms around his shoulders to help him stand—wobble, at least—when he went to fetch the idol from Triple J’s congratulatory party at some shindig, prestigious hotel. Renjun had texted him he’d be back at his dorm by 11 p.m. sharp three hours ago. “You’re a big, fat liar, Renjun.”

“Don’t get snappy with me, Xuxi-ge,” Renjun slurs. Oh? A new nickname. “I don’t need to tell you everything.”

“You literally just cried to me about your friends betraying you—” Yukhei almost trips over his own feet, and Renjun sways, shuffling his feet against the roughness of the hallway carpeted floor. “Could you _please_ cooperate with me or we’ll both fall and hit our heads.”

“I feel like I’m g’nna puke.”

“Oh, _hell_ no,” Yukhei whisper-yells then points out, “This is a well-established hotel, Renjun-ah. I’m sure you understand. Are you _begging_ to be slaughtered by those weirdos on netizen discussion sites?”

Renjun hiccups. “That’s cert’nly one way to get att’tion.”

“You’re not saying certainly and attention right.”

“Thank you!”

“It wasn’t a compliment?” Yukhei shakes his head, sighing. If they’re going to babble any longer in the hallway, someone’s going to find out _the_ Huang Renjun drunk out of his wits and vomiting his misery out, and then fans will find out he went to the same party Triple J held and - _fuck_. It’ll be really shitty. “Hey, Renjun, hold on to me,” and before he regrets it, he hoists the idol up, tucking one arm under his legs and the other supporting his back.

“This is embarrassing,” Renjun says, but the amused twitch of his mouth betrays him. “Say, I just told you - um, my biggest secret. Do you mind never _ever_ mentioning it to Triple J… or Mark… or Chenle. Anyone, actually. Please?”

“No problem,” Yukhei starts to sprint a little towards the elevators. “I’ll even tell you one of mine—an eye for an eye,” he’s joking, but Renjun has this curious glimmer to his face, and Yukhei doesn’t really see it often, so in the silence of one of the most grand hotels in Seoul—exhaustion and all—he falls apart, “When I worked for the previous idol group, I dated one of the members and well, the CEO found out. It was either he leaves the group or I get assigned to a different company. You can guess how that fiasco ended.”

“That’s…” Renjun tucks his face into his shoulder and there’s an ache to Yukhei’s chest—like a phantom limb—when he realizes Renjun _fits_ , “harsh.”

“Yeah,” Yukhei’s left eye twitches at the lipstick stain on the side of his lip, but he ignores it, “Also, I like writing.”

Renjun hums, planting wet open-mouth kisses on his neck.

* * *

Love • [luhv] **verb.**

Being in love a second time feels like coming back to the battlefield, and you know you’re going to lose again. You are nothing but a shell of a soldier covered in dirt and blood, though every time you kiss him, all you’ll ever taste is ambition. It’s frightening. You never want to taste anything else.

* * *

Here’s the thing:

They don’t talk about Traitors J (Renjun had accidentally blurted out the nickname in the middle of a conversation, before taking a deep breath, joking about how _isn’t it catchy, Xuxi-ge?_ ) or Mystery Idol Member who happens to be Yukhei’s ex. At least, not in bed; not when Renjun’s sinking painstakingly slow onto his length and deliciously crying out his name when Yukhei digs his nails into the softness of Renjun’s skin, marking.

Until -

After an end-year award show in Singapore, Renjun had barged into Yukhei’s hotel room around 1 a.m. (he probably asked for a duplicate of his _manager’s key_ from the receptionist) and then proceeded to straddle him, mercilessly waking him up from his sleep—a _nap-of-a-sort_ , if he was being honest. The award show lasted all night, and by the time Yukhei had finally gotten some eyeshut, Renjun ruined it all.

If Yukhei wasn’t fully awake then, he was right after Renjun had crawled between Yukhei’s thighs and planted himself on his crotch (out of all the times Yukhei chose to only wear his boxers to bed _now_?), lazily grinding against it in the dark of the room, hands shaking on his chest as he did so. “What the hell are you doing?” Yukhei groans, registering the way his voice is croaky and wonders if he’s being too quiet because Renjun’s not answering. “Renjun? Oi.” Still, Renjun cups his growing hardness, and with a hiss, Yukhei’s hand reflexively reaches to pull his head back by his hair as he sits up. “What the _fuck_.”

“You know,” Renjun brings Yukhei’s hand from his hair to his face, slipping one of his fingers inside his mouth, sloppily sucking on it, “you sound really, really, _really_ sexy when you curse like that. I bet Kunhang loved that in bed.”

Yukhei stops breathing. “We can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

“You know what.”

“No. I _don’t_ know,” Renjun’s thumbs draw tiny circles on his thigh before moving back and lowering himself. Fixing his eyes on Yukhei, like he’s trying to challenge him, he places a kiss on Yukhei’s clothed cock, then licks it kitten-like in a teasing manner. The material gets damp and slick with pre-cum. Yukhei is almost embarrassed. When he pulls away, the only thing that connects Renjun’s lip to his cock is by the long string of saliva. “Make me forget, tonight? Please.”

Yukhei’s words get dislodged in his throat when Renjun harshly pulls his boxers down, and it’s only then does he realize Renjun’s not wearing anything underneath the light blue Gucci embroidered collar cotton dress shirt—the same one Donghyuck told him to wear to the after-party just hours ago. He evens out his breathing, watching Renjun work his magic. “Wait - make you - _what_?” Yukhei grabs Renjun by the hair again to stop him, to have him listen. He can feel his cock throbbing, lying against his hip looking flushed, red and swollen. Renjun looks incredibly proud of his artwork. “Are you drunk?”

Renjun looks up at him, eyebrows raised like he’s taking offence in the question. Yukhei doesn’t move, strenuously pinned under the glare. When Renjun sits up, moving back to sit on Yukhei, making sure to have his dick in the cleft of his ass, he gasps a little, dewy mouth forming an ‘o’, cheeks reddened pink. In the dim light of the room, Renjun looks like a king on his throne. The way he has a hand on Yukhei’s shoulder makes him want to yield. “I can make you forget Kunhang tonight and - and I can forget—”

“No,” Yukhei could be his lionheart if Renjun asks him to. He could. “Don’t talk… about him. Not now. Please.”

“I’m not.”

Yukhei’s brain short-circuits. “Huh?”

Renjun sighs. “I’m not that drunk.”

“Oh.” Yukhei furrows his eyebrows, eyes darting to his phone charging on the bedside table. “What time is it?”

“Past one or something. Jaemin threw up on my pants. Had to leave early. A killjoy.” Renjun wraps his arms around Yukhei’s shoulders, expertly moving his hip in slow circles. “You gonna fuck me or what?”

Yukhei exhales, balancing the pros and cons of letting Renjun have his way. “You’re going to drink water, wash up and _sleep_ , instead. Our flight back home is in the morning. I’m sure you know that.”

He does. Irritated, Renjun rolls his eyes, letting out an _Ugh_ as he gets up before childishly stomping over to the large window that leads to the balcony. The warm weight gone—just like that.

How easily it is for Renjun to slip out of Yukhei’s fingertips. Has it always been like that?

(There’s a burn in his heart, fizzling infuriatingly, when he realizes Kunhang did the same thing, too.)

Yukhei watches Renjun unceremoniously lean his forehead on the glass, taking deep breaths. Crossing and uncrossing his arms a few times, Renjun ends up moving his hands to bury his face in his palms instead. “You know how Triple J…” There’s a pause. A hesitation. Yukhei waits. Renjun whispers into nothingness, “Triple J won Artist of the Year tonight. The whole world observed it. I didn’t feel good.”

It’s like the sudden downpour of the rain, the turning of tides that have ships crashing against brutal waves.

Yukhei is already on his feet.

Renjun has always been incredibly fragile in this state—the very mention of Triple J winning end-year awards has the colours in his body drained out of him. His shoulders tremble, and he makes himself smaller—afraid of taking so much room. Trained to only make space for the trainees he was supposed to debut with. The near-perfect idol image vanishes, dissipating like sugar in hot water.

Exhilaration burns in Yukhei’s bones—the force of it having his heartbeat inconstantly hammering in his thorax. It’s exciting. He thought about it, sometimes; how Renjun could fit in his hands. Remembering the way Renjun’s fans are always yelling about how “tiny” Renjun is, Yukhei wonders how would they react if they knew of their precious one, crying in his manager’s hotel room as he undergoes the process of being shattered.

It’s a little fucked up, he almost laughs.

The thought doesn’t stop Yukhei from taking his shirt and boxers completely off, and wrapping long arms around Renjun from behind. One of Yukhei’s hands sneaks under Renjun’s shirt to smooth down his sides before settling on the curve of his hips. At this, Renjun curls into him like second nature, and his head lolls back against Yukhei’s shoulder like he’s the only support pillar he has and in turn, Yukhei pulls him impossibly closer.

“I wrote about you,” Yukhei starts, careful as always. Renjun immediately understands. _It’s one of those nights_.

“Yeah?” The idol rasps, voice lingering with unshed tears. “How did the story go?”

“Like this,” Yukhei whispers before grinding up against him. His balls hang heavy between his thighs, wanting nothing but to fill Renjun with all that creamy, potent cum. Oh, would that be something. How many of his fans have dreamt of that? Renjun’s breath hitches. Heat pools in his gut as Yukhei watches him move his body nearer, wanting to feel more of that delicious - _ah_ \- friction. “Just like this,” Yukhei breathes out, a rush running down his spine as he digs into his hip possessively, licking the shell of his ear. “Tell me why you want to forget, pretty one.”

Renjun lets his eyes fall closed. “That should’ve been with me up there,” he rasped before letting out a broken gasp when Yukhei bites him in the space between his neck and shoulder, sucking his skin, marking the cosmos into him; the colour turning from a beautifully bright red to a gorgeously deep violet. Not so perfect now. Never was perfect before. “Yukhei - _mhm_. Want to you feel all of you - want you—”

“Say please. You can’t just take without asking.”

“Please - _oh_!” He lets out a small gasp as Yukhei slides his cock in between his thighs. Renjun quivers, and Yukhei starts thrusting, slow and steady, building momentum. “Shit, Yuk - Yu _khei_. Wonder how good it’ll feel to have you inside— _ah_! Would you do that—big boy? Would you take care of me?”

“Not tonight.” Renjun glares at him from the window reflection and Yukhei feels a twist inside of him. There’s a jolt in his guts, and he folds one of Renjun’s arms behind his back; a warning that says: _you don’t call the shots right now_. “I’ll take care of you, though. I promise.”

As Yukhei slides his hand across his chest to pinch at his nipple, Renjun rolls his hips, desperately wanting to feel every inch of Yukhei’s cock frotting against his. The feeling of Renjun melting under his fingertips, to have him caged in his arms—it’s addicting, dizzying.

“Say,” Yukhei stills his hip, watches as Renjun stops breathing. Yukhei forces him by the chin to stare at himself in the reflection of the mirror. _This is how you look like under me—I did that to you_. “You never once mentioned Kunhang or Triple J. Why now? Don’t tell me you get turned on by even the mention of them. Look at what a godforsaken mess you’ve become. I’m not even _touching_ you.”

Renjun bucks his hips, and incoherent mumbles of _Fuckfuckfuck_ is what he manages to cry out when Yukhei speeds up—one hand playing with his nipples, the other sneaking fingers into Renjun’s mouth and he sucks at them, getting them wet and sloppy - _oh_. Renjun curses loudly when Yukhei teases one wet finger around the rim of his ass, letting out a long whine.

At this, Yukhei stands up a little to pull him into a kiss, rolling the nipple bud in his fingers while rutting up against him. “Do you want Jaemin or Jeno to see you like this? All hard for me. C’mon, look at your cock—slapping against your stomach like that. Red and leaking with excitement. How would your fans take in the fact their perfect idol obediently opens his legs for his manager?”

“Fuck, Yukhei—” Renjun’s back arched off the bed as a loud moan spills from his lips.

“I mean, weren’t you made for me to fuck you?” Yukhei growls, unable to stop himself. He grips Renjun’s hips tightly and bends himself over the idol’s pliant form, exploiting Renjun’s flexibility and his weight to his advantage—driving the full force of his thrusts deep into the tight space between his thighs. 

“ _Yukhei_ —”

Feeling eager, Yukhei licks a rough, wet stripe from mid-spine up to the nape of his neck. At the shift of angle, the side of Renjun’s face makes contact with the window. “You were made for me to break.”

( _Should I stop?_ )

“Please,” Renjun all but gasps, wet and desperate.

( _Keep going_.)

Pulling him back a little to swallow him in a kiss, he digs his nails deeper into the skin of Renjun’s hips while rutting up against him. Renjun looks delicate, on his tippy-toes, at Yukhei’s mercy. It’s a sight to behold, truly. Their thrusts synchronise. Yukhei grunts, his hands moving to curl around Renjun’s ass, pressing him further against the window as he fucks into him harder. “At the end of the day, you’ll only have me. Right?”

“Y- _Yes_.” Renjun looks like he’s going to die. The usual coy and ambitious mask he wears crumbles _because_ of Yukhei. “Just you. Only you. _Ugh_ , feels so good.”

They make eye contact in the reflection. If a paparazzi caught them from the window, the picture would go viral as fast as the speed of light—they’d be over in seconds. Yukhei could come right now, with Renjun’s doe eyes fluttering back at him, trying his best to keep them open. One of Yukhei’s large hands wrapped around his throat so dangerously pretty.

That’d be such a beautiful photo. The pieces of the broken forbidden cookie jar laid out, like mosaic. Bright, golden apple plucked and bitten.

Their eyes hold and Yukhei can’t look away—can’t afford to, and he starts to fuck brutally. Fast and merciless with sweat oozing over his skin. Hot air fills up the hotel room, smelling terribly like libido. Renjun doesn’t seem to care—all moaning and whining; harmonizing with the sound of wet skin slapping against each other.

Craving for release and the need for possession—combined with being a little bit driven mad with lust—Yukhei comes first, unhinged. When he pulls his cock out from the tight space of Renjun’s thighs, and the idol is already pulling his ass cheeks apart, there’s a feeling of triumph somewhere in the back of his mind. The sight has him coming all over the gaping hole.

“Next time I’ll come inside of you,” Yukhei teases, rubbing the sensitive head of his cock around Renjun’s rim, painting the whites around. “Have you carry a little of me around, yeah? A reminder that you’re mine, and you have no one else but me.”

It sounds like a promise.

It means: I’ll help you forget your pain again and again.

It is: I’ll take care of you.

It, and so on.

“You’re insane,” Renjun lets out weakly, laughing breathlessly against the window. It’s all fogged up from their breaths, his sweat. “How would I perform properly?” He jokes, and his voice comes out in a different kind of husky, compared to how it’d be after hours of vocal practice. Different, because Yukhei is the only one who knows the difference.

The question goes unanswered. Yukhei pushes his head harder into the surface of the glass, observing possessively as Renjun’s eyes glaze and roll back again. Slicking one finger with his own come, Yukhei slips it inside. “Go on,” he says. “Come untouched for me.”

The words carry magic. Renjun lets out a broken scream, desperately humping his hips back against Yukhei’s finger as much as he can as he cums.

It would have been a beautiful photo, truly: Renjun’s body convulsing and dancing in ways he’s never had to memorize for a performance. Such a shame, isn’t it? The paparazzis could never be this close to experiencing him unravel. The pieces of Renjun’s consciousness and the way the only thing he can do so he doesn’t go insane is _breathe_ —all that belongs to Yukhei.

Renjun collapses boneless against the rough carpeted floor. “Thanks,” he manages to say.

“No problem.” Yukhei crouches down, pushing Renjun’s bangs away from where they’re sticking by the sweat on his forehead. Eyes half-opened, mouth drawing in small breaths, drool all over his chin. Yukhei thinks he’s gorgeous. “Congrats on winning Album of the Year, by the way.”

Renjun snorts, swatting Yukhei’s arm. “Bye.”

* * *

Some nights are quieter than others.

( _Do you want to talk about it?_ Yukhei doesn’t get an answer. He stares at the television mounted on the wall. If he tries, he could imagine what Renjun looks like on one of Philippines’ morning shows tomorrow. _Are you going to fire me?_

Renjun has his face planted in the pillows so his laugh is muffled. _I can’t get rid of you the first time. What makes you think I could now?_

_Dunno. We’re always crossing multiple lines. We’ve never really talked about_ this _. Are we—_

_No._ Renjun quickly says. _I don’t really want to talk._ )

* * *

By the end of another comeback season, Renjun wins a total of seven wins. _Eight_ , he says instead because _it’s two counts higher than Triple J’s comeback a month ago—and that counts as one win for me!_ While he’s bowing respectfully to the other artists, he’s also practically skipping down the cramped hallway that connects the backstage to the dressing rooms.

“Uh-huh,” Yukhei licks chapped lips, blinking away the tired from his eyes as he skims through tomorrow’s schedule on his clipboard. He tries his best to catch up to Renjun by brisk walking. “Now, please get some sleep.”

Renjun stops skipping to turn around. “What? No congratulation gift? You’re so mean, Xuxi-ge.” His mouth curls into a smirk. Leaning in, be whispers all honey-like, “Didn’t you say you wanted to try doing it in the closet? It’s a little cramp, from what I remember; but I think you’ll like it better that way.”

“Be quiet.” A pause. Then - “You deserve rest.”

Renjun pulls back and puts his hands up in surrender, a lazy smile adorning his face. “Okay.”

Yukhei stares at him, bringing a hand to pat him on the head before he could tell himself to stop. “You’ve worked hard.”

If Renjun blushes, Yukhei tells himself it’s the dim hallway lighting.

* * *

Mondays are tough.

“You could have _at least_ texted me,” is how Yukhei chooses to greet Renjun in the cafeteria. He’s sitting together with Triple J at a table closest to the counter (because he likes eyeing the cakes he’d order if his trainer allows him to eat more than 600 calories for the day) and he’s grinning from ear to ear, post-joking with the others.

When he finally sees Yukhei, the pretty-perfect smile is still there but his eyes narrow.

“I forgot,” he harrumphs, placing his chin on one palm. “Relax, okay?”

“I’m supposed to drive you here,” Yukhei tries not to sound like he’s arguing, but it’s difficult. He had driven to Renjun’s dorm to pick him up only to find out the idol wasn’t there. Yukhei is supposed to do his work properly. It’s his job. It’s what he’s supposed to do. He can’t lose this. It’s his only connection to Renjun outside the bedroom. It’s -

“ _Relax_ ,” Renjun repeats, chewing on his fingernail—a habit Yukhei hasn’t found a way to abolish. Donghyuck would be angry again if he sees his nails. The fan-sites would point it out, fond of him always. (Sometimes, Yukhei would kiss his fingers during their rendezvous.) “I woke up way too early, and I was already hungry. Plus,” Renjun beams, gesturing to the other three sat at the table, “they promised to treat me today.”

“We did,” Jaemin smiles apologetically. Jisung nods.

Yukhei inhales, then exhales, looking back at Renjun. “You have dance practice in twenty minutes, and you don’t want to get on Taeyong’s nerves, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Renjun stands up to put his tray away, then waves at his friends. The movement is stiff, Yukhei notices, but it’s just _enough_ that no one else would catch it. Not even to the people he’s trained with since they were little. “See you guys around.”

“Let’s get lunch together when you have time, Renjunnie,” Jeno calls out.

It’s only in the elevator—one that smells too much like metal—does Renjun’s smile fully drop. There’s a new acne growing on his forehead; Yukhei’s first guess is that Donghyuck is trying out the beauty foundation Renjun is sponsoring.

“I went over to your apartment this morning,” Yukhei starts, and Renjun glares at him. There’s an accent of electric blue on his lower eyelash today, and the gloss on his lips is smudged from breakfast. “Mark gave me the spare key, remember?” Renjun makes a _hmph_ sound and Yukhei crosses his arms against his chest, “There were shattered pieces of plates everywhere on your kitchen floor.”

“…and?”

“It’s my job to make sure you’re okay.”

Renjun’s expression is unreadable. “Broken plates are _none_ of your concerns.”

“The reason for it definitely is.” It really _does_ reek of too much metal in here. Yukhei can taste it on his tongue now. Eyeing Renjun in the diamond-like patterned reflection of the elevator doors, he asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Renjun huffs, tucking his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. “No.”

“How about you look at it this way: I’m worried for you—like how a friend would be,” Yukhei tries. He wonders if Renjun had already talked about the broken plates with his friends—with the boys of Triple J—and what brought it on.

He probably didn’t, though. In all likelihood, he had smashed his plates against the floor after reading those awful comments on discussion forums again.

Yukhei swallows the heavy lump in his throat; it tastes akin to blood.

Renjun takes a deep breath, “You’re a manager, Xuxi-ge. No room for anything else.”

_Oh_ , Yukhei realizes: He was biting the inside of his cheeks, a little too harshly. That’s what the metallic taste was, and that he’d known it was a familiar tang because Renjun once asked him to lick blood off his finger after accidentally getting a cut ( _Manager-nim, take care of me, will you?_ ).

He’s only ever been a manager up to this point, albeit a fuckbuddy in places convenient enough for them to have a go, but never -

“A friend, huh,” Renjun says, in a way that sounds like he’s asking, but it’s not a question for Yukhei—not for anyone, really. It carries a finality.

(No room for anything else.)

The elevator opens with a _Ding!_ and the conversation ends.

* * *

Fridays are usually better.

On a Friday, Renjun wilts.

In the recording studio, Yukhei waits—like he always does—for Renjun to sing one part, two sometimes, of a work-in-progress song (something about the producer wanting to test and see if it’s a go or no-go) before the idol would make his way to rest in the waiting area: a small room with a rug coloured the ugliest shade of orange and three equally ugly green bean-bags.

Renjun catches Yukhei’s eyes, making a show of not turning away (even raising eyebrows suggestively) until he’s sitting comfortably on one of the bean-bags next to the window. He’s submerged halfway in his seat. It’s painfully cute.

“I’m sorry,” Renjun begins. The apology doesn’t surprise Yukhei. “That night—I was angry about something stupid. I shouldn’t have ignored your texts.”

Yukhei sighs, “No, no—wait. _I_ shouldn’t have been insensitive. I just - I just don’t want you to get hurt.” Walking away from where he’s leaning by the doorway that divides the recording studio and waiting area, Yukhei goes to crouch in front of Renjun, making sure to be on eye-level with him. The thought of their height difference makes his skin burn sometimes. “I didn’t mean to be pushy. If you want—I’ll buy you a stress ball or something.”

Renjun chuckles, leaning forward to caress his face. “You’re ever _so_ lovely,” he says, then he frowns, eyebrows furrowed like he’s thinking of something.

Before he dwells too much on it, Yukhei asks, “Are you going to tell me what you were angry about?”

Like always, the answer doesn’t surprise Yukhei. “Netizens’ comments, fuck them bitches,” Renjun huffs, withdrawing his hands. Before Yukhei could miss the warmth, Renjun sits up straighter, hands clamping down on Yukhei’s shoulders and makes a show of brushing lint off, “Wait! I have something!” He points to his backpack sitting ugly in the corner, looking like it was thrown. Knowing him, it probably was. “I have—! Well, I have a surprise for you. Hand me my bag.”

Yukhei thinks of three things:

1\. First, he thought Renjun had gotten him another ruined apology cupcake (“Hagrid squashed Harry’s birthday cake and he _still_ liked it.” / “Har—? I’m not fuckin’ Harry Potter.” / “You could be. That reminds me, do you want to dress up as Harry Potter characters with me for Halloween? Jeno doesn’t want to do it with me.” / “Why would I want to do that?” / “Uh, because you care for me? And also it’s fun? You could be Cedric Diggory.”);

2\. Or that it was another lipstick kit from his many sponsors—the most recent one being Candy Lab (“You could be a model, Xuxi-ge.” / “I’d hate quitting _this_ job.” / “You like me that much?” / “Sure, let’s go with that reason.”);

3\. And lastly, it could also be another half-empty large cup of McCafe Latte (“You look more dead than I am, and _I’m_ the one who has dance positions to memorize within a night. Also it’s half- _full_ , okay. I took more than a sip on the way here, sorry!”).

But the crinkle of plastic resonates, and Renjun is pulling out -

“Postcards?”

Renjun hands him one with Singapore’s Merlion accentuated by the beautiful backdrop of tall city buildings in shimmering lights at night. “Yeah, I saw it somewhere on Instagram.” He excitedly flails it around, and looks up at Yukhei, “I thought the idea was cute: write down your thoughts of the day and pass it to someone else. That someone else in _our_ equation is you, Xuxi-ge. You like writing, right?”

Oh.

Yukhei stares at him.

_Oh_.

It’s only one minor— _microscopic_ , even—detail, just a far-off used-to-be-a dream that he mentioned once during a drunken catastrophe, but Renjun remembered. “We - we could just talk,” Yukhei splutters, finally.

Raising one eyebrow, Renjun pouts, “Where’s the fun in that? Look. I’ll start. Here.” Grabbing a pen from one of the front backpack pockets, he begins to write. “The rule is to write me one back, of course. Just that. For this one, I’ll write: _Keep growling, Xuxi-ge. Rawr._ That’s _I’m sorry again and please give me food_ in merlion.”

“Rules,” Yukhei deadpans, before asking, “Rawr?”

“Go with the flow, Xuxi-ge, sheesh.”

“Fine, fine. We’ll go for late lunch after the producer dismisses you, yeah?” He takes the postcard, fingers brushing against the skin of Renjun’s hand—rough, callous, dignified. Lovely. (So very lovely.) In an attempt to defer Renjun’s attention from the heartbeats in his fingertips, or the possibility that he might be in love with a person who writes apologies on postcards, he asks, “Where did you even buy these?”

* * *

As far as exaggerations go, Yukhei blinked, and then it’s concert season.

See, concert season is not Yukhei’s friend.

He could ask if it was Renjun’s, but rationality burns through; it didn’t seem like it was his place.

If Yukhei could explain concert season in one word, it would be _ice_.

It means Yukhei—frozen in his place, a blizzard in his veins—has to watch Renjun endure extra vocal practice, late night dance lessons, and substitute every supposed full meal with black coffee. If he’s lucky, he gets an apple. If Yukhei’s lucky, he’ll smuggle him a few Subway take-outs, and Renjun would actually eat.

It means Yukhei stays inconveniently rooted in foot-deep snow and Renjun is on the other side of the glassy mirror; his every flaw on display for him to judge because he can’t afford to be anything more than perfect. Yukhei can’t get to him, can’t break ice-bound demarcation, can’t tell him the smallest of mistakes shouldn’t be followed by punishments. It means he sees Renjun more and less, simultaneously: Yukhei sees him for the schedules, but Renjun mostly leaves him alone to do his part as an idol. Yukhei’s part is to wait, to organize, and to look forward.

(“Xuxi-ge,” Renjun says, shifting the Macbook on his lap to show Yukhei what seemed like song lyrics. He knows how gifted Renjun is; how his brain mostly works faster than hands. The lyrics look gibberish for now, but his name always stays on the charts for longer than he could remember. “Producer Kim and I are working on this song, and she wanted to title this one ‘Orpheus’.”

“Orpheus?” Yukhei makes a quick scan of the lyrics, but Renjun, as he is, senses that he can’t really read anything written down as of the moment, turns the Macbook screen back to him. “As in the Greek myth guy who lost his wife?”

“It seemed fitting,” Renjun laughs: a strum of Apollo’s lyre, Hades moved by the song itself, Yukhei’s heart dancing as the Doors to the Underworld open—Oh, Orpheus, how _foolish_. Everyone knows that - “Legends tend to end in tragedy. The only thing he was supposed to do is not look back. He wouldn’t have to lose his lover.”)

It serves as a reminder to not look back.

_That’s it_ , he tells himself. _That’s it_.

Concert season is ice.

It means Persephone goes home to the underworld and in turn, Demeter plunges the world into a winter hell-hole where no flowers will grow and the Sun rises slower. It’s a formal setting—an agreement: Renjun performs for the world, Yukhei stays backstage.

* * *

Love • [luhv] **idiom.**

He is the warmth that encompasses your entirety. You are sure the ancient Greek writers would write of him, of his smile, of his laughter. You would. He’s your muse, isn’t he? Only, every time he lets you kiss him, it feels like a secret, a cryptic language no linguists could ever decode.

* * *

This is Bangkok, Thailand:

Yukhei watches backstage as Renjun sings the last chorus of his last song for Night Two. The fans have their lightsticks in a rainbow sequence across the stadium seats, swaying to the slow and lugubrious rhythm. Yukhei’s favourite banners are the ones that say ‘Renjun Who Lights Up Our World ♡’ glittered in the colour of cyan.

One of the sound board operators comes up to him, clicking his tongue. “It’s times like these that I remember Renjun’s not like _us_ , you know? On a different level than everyone else.”

Yukhei knows.

He’d dare say, of all people, he knows that fact best. It leers back at him in his writing sometimes.

Renjun has his eyes closed, his hand on his chest—where the heart is—and he’s surrounded by a scenery of thousands of unblinking lights. The image is a far cry from the goofball from dry practice this morning; contradictory from the vixen that bulldozed his way through to pull Yukhei into a half-drunken kiss at noon before shoving him in an empty make-up room - “Yeah,” he coughs into his fist, “Me too.”

Later that night, in the hotel corridor, Renjun hands him a postcard—a vibrant photo of The Grand Palace, before yawning, tiredly walking off to his room.

On the back, it says:

_let’s come back here again_

_no cameras no fans_

_just me and you_

* * *

This is Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia:

“You _need_ to take them,” Yukhei hisses from the driver’s seat, thrusting one sleeping pill and a water bottle at Renjun, who’s sitting prettily and wearily from Night One of the concert. Pretty and weary, and so fucking _stubborn_.

He wonders if he should call Mark right now; tell him that ever since they landed in Malaysia (just _yesterday_ ), Renjun’s been complaining about how he’s feeling achingly sick, ( _Xuxi-ge, am I dying?_ ), yet he’s refusing to eat the given medicine. Was he ever like this before? _What would you do when he got sick?_ Would he -

(The dying thing: Renjun’s morbidly joking, of course, and assures Yukhei _it’s an idol thing, we get sick sometimes_ but Yukhei has seen this before, and so: he gives them both an almost-concussion when he smacks his forehead against Renjun’s. “You’re burning up,” Yukhei deduces, “We’re going to a doctor.”)

“I do _not_ ,” Renjun whines, turning his head away to look outside, picking at the hem of his yellow knitted sweater. A fansite’s gift for his birthday project, he remembers. A thought comes to mind, and Yukhei takes the time to say his thanks that the windows are tinted.

Because, if, let’s say, a fan—maybe fan _s_ —caught them in an empty parking lot, who’s to say what would happen? Yukhei is first in line to fix whatever mess is associated with Renjun. However, said associated mess would be the idol _himself_ in this case. He’d trend on Twitter first thing in the morning. A hundred memes would have already been made. Yukhei doesn’t even know where they are—a few roads away from the stadium, maybe—but he doesn’t want to start calculating any risks now.

“Aren’t you scared I’m going to be like,” Renjun starts again and Yukhei forgets about Worst Case Scenario #2 (number one being Renjun falling terribly ill if he doesn’t take the fucking medicine) for a moment. The pill in his hand is being grimaced by Renjun, and he continues, “dependent on them?”

“ _I’m_ not the doctor. _You’re_ the one who’s feeling like shit,” Yukhei sighs. “Hey, she advised you to take one if you need to rest. Renjun—” Yukhei’s eyes trail back to the pill sitting on his palm. “Do you want to still go on with Night Two?”

Of course, Renjun does.

He loves his fans more than anything in the world. On nights post-concert when the lingering feeling of Renjun’s kisses waterfalling down Yukhei’s chest seems permanent, Renjun would stare outside the hotel window and say something like: _They think_ I _light up their world when in reality,_ they _light up mine._

And it’s in those times that Yukhei thinks again about how foolishly selfish he is—thinking that he could be someone other than an idol’s manager. (That didn’t end well last time, did it?)

So: as a manager, in his defence, if there was a chance for Renjun to rest after so many tiring nights, then Yukhei would take it. But -

Of course, Renjun doesn’t.

The fruit tree branch pulls away. Renjun agrees to take the pill. “You gotta do the thing, though,” he says smugly.

(Unlike Orpheus, Yukhei won’t look back.)

“Renjun,” he warns, but not-so.

“Please?”

(Unlike Orpheus, Yukhei won’t lose Renjun.)

Surrendering, almost easily, Yukhei sighs and places the pill on his tongue before leaning in to meet Renjun’s mouth in the middle. In between the wet-and-sloppy open-mouth kiss, the pill ends up on Renjun’s tongue and he pulls away. A self-congratulatory look is painted on his face, and his glistening lips shine in the dim of the street light; his throat moving as he swallows.

Later in bed, while thinking of the way Renjun’s Adam’s apple danced, Yukhei could argue the scene was romantic: a short-lived coming-of-age infatuation type of movie scene, where they’re about to make out in the moonlight and swim in their temporary youth, but then he hears a click from his air-conditioner and the credit scenes roll.

_God_ , Renjun and his romance films are starting to rub off on him.

“Here,” Yukhei places a polaroid of Jalan Alor—bustling and busy and _loud_ —on Renjun’s thigh. They’re sitting in the Plaza Premium Lounge, waiting to board the next flight to Manila. “It’s my turn to give one. I figured we wouldn’t actually have the time to buy a postcard so… I brought this one just in case. It’s when I visited Malaysia two years ago.”

The sticky note (hotel’s courtesy) on the back says:

_Feel better soon_

_When you do, I’ll treat you to all the food you want_

_Let’s eat well_

The polaroid falls onto the ground as Renjun tackles him in a hug.

* * *

**Chenle (CEO)** _5:56 p.m._ _  
__Attached: 1 Photo_ _  
_You are a manager. Please remind yourself of your place.

When he sees the attached media: a blurry photo, assumingly captured hurriedly by a fan, of him being engulfed in Renjun’s arms, the floor underneath Yukhei’s feet turns cold.

Concert season is ice. Yukhei doesn’t like it.

He could ask if Renjun does, but he doesn’t.

Immediately, he goes to fix the mess before netizens start spewing their own thesis.

* * *

This is Manila, Philippines:

“It’s raining,” Renjun announces, and Yukhei will remember this late afternoon for three reasons.

First, because they’re standing outside 7-Eleven after an impulsive tour at the Intramuros. The day, and sequentially the old buildings around them, have been tinted in the colours of heavy downpour (though, that doesn’t concern Yukhei—they won’t get washed away by just mere weather: humans are headstrong and sometimes, the inanimate things they built follow suit). The only thing illuminating Renjun is the light from the convenience store. He’s beautiful in the white glow, the wet fog of the rain, long eyelashes fluttering. Magical, quiet.

Second, because while Yukhei sips his chocolate milk, habitually chewing at the straw as he does so, he finds Renjun staring at him. His own sandwich stays suspended halfway mid-air, mid-bite.

Yukhei clears his throat, “What?”

“Nothing,” Renjun turns away, smiling into his snack, “You make convenient stores feel good.”

Third, because after finishing their snacks and an exchange of four lame jokes, Renjun pulls him into a kiss.

It starts like this: he stands on his tippy-toes and quietly brackets his hands around Yukhei’s cheeks. Renjun kisses with closed eyes, Yukhei notes, then he leans forward to kiss him back.

It ends like this: Yukhei panickedly pulls away, head swiveling around to find anything—anyone that could ruin this, them, Renjun. When he looks back inside the convenience store, the cashier is organizing the snack bar, seemingly bored.

The grey, thick fog seems to stand still—watching their next move. The rain is a constant: colourless droplets hammering down to the earth like the way Yukhei’s heart is thrashing in his ribcage. His own hand clutches at where the beating is most harsh, and then he realizes he’s trying to catch his breath. It reminds him of Ariadne when she realizes Theseus had left; of Yukhei being called up to his previous CEO’s office and Kunhang was there, face low, hands clasped. Nervous.

“I could never give you peace,” Renjun says, and Yukhei looks back at him finally, “but I’d like to try.”

Before Yukhei could ask anything (What—what does that even mean? Isn’t the leave-everything-on-the-bed thing their way of trying? A solution to their problems: Renjun with his friends, Yukhei with Kunhang? _)_ , Renjun steps forward and places his forehead on Yukhei’s chest.

After a moment of brief silence in the language of the rain, Yukhei shakily places one hand behind his back, and gradually, his arms find home around Renjun’s waist. It feels nice. It feels like -

* * *

Love • [luhv] **synonym.**

There are thirteen centimetres separating you from his lips. You are enchanted by the offset of a second chance, of the guiltless move of leaning in to kiss again—something lovers have written about for thousands of years, something that will be written over and over and _over_ again. The feeling of another warm clandestine meeting explodes inside of you, like fireworks, but it simmers instead of detonates, and it leaves you wondering why.

* * *

(Yukhei will remember what happened afterwards for several _other_ reasons:

1.Twenty minutes after being picked up by an Uber, Renjun yells in broken Tagalog, “I forgot to buy a postcard!” and had to convince the driver to make a quick turn. (“You know he’s going to charge us extra for that. You scared him.” / “Then we’ll pay him accordingly. We’re good customers. Give him five stars on the app.” / “Look at him—that’s a post-heart-attack look right there.”)

2.In the souvenir shop, Renjun chooses a postcard with Zamboanga’s City Hall dressed in Christmas lights (“Because the name sounds cool! Zam-bo-ang-ga. Nice.”) and buys Yukhei a ‘I ♡ Philippines’ shirt for the heck of it.

3.Yukhei surprises him with a sunflower hat. It had become windy towards the night, and so Renjun had clutched onto his sunflower hat and Yukhei’s hand just as tightly. The Uber driver doesn’t say anything when they climb into the car, giggling silly—an echo of two unknown lovers.

4.The next morning, Renjun kisses him awake. He steals another one on the ride to the airport, and one more in the airplane.

5.The postcard says: _but the rain is always gonna come / if you’re standing with me / t.s._ Yukhei doesn’t know how to respond.)

* * *

The beige curtains of the hospital room are distracting. They’re nothing special or out of the ordinary, but they’re _there_ , hung over the two large windows. Still, motionless, quiet. Distracting. The afternoon sky outside is too blue for November. If Yukhei takes a peek outside (and he will, later, when Renjun’s mother comes in because he has no courage to look at Renjun reaching out for her with a shaky hand), he’ll see golden-leafed trees lining up the streets. All distracting.

“I can practically hear your thoughts,” Renjun says—croaks, really. Yukhei winces. At how hoarse Renjun sounds. At the little voice in his head that’s telling him this is his fault. At the way Renjun’s looking at him fondly; brows furrowed in worry like he’s forgiven him.

Five hours ago, Renjun had fainted during rehearsals.

Four hours and fifty-nine minutes ago, Yukhei’s heart had stopped at the sight of Renjun, pale, his dance crew surrounding his limp body on the stage, panicked -

“Don’t blame yourself,” Renjun tells him. “With practice and the cold weather, I was bound to get sick.”

There are many things Yukhei had wanted to say. Instead, he goes for: “You have got to take care of yourself.” The muffled beeping outside the room probes at his ears. Distracting. Renjun’s pale lips are distracting. The absence of the mischievous twinkle in his eyes is distracting. “Who else will do it in the future?”

“Still hoping it would be you.”

Yukhei doesn’t let a millisecond pass: “What if I get a wife and kids?”

“Would you, now,” Renjun laughs softly, regarding him with raised eyebrows before he looks away slowly, like he’s contemplating the uncertainty of the future. Yukhei had seen him do this before, far too many times—in the car on the way to practice, after performances, in the mirror when he’s brushing his teeth by the sink next to Yukhei on quiet mornings. Renjun hums, “You would have beautiful little ones.”

_Huang Renjun, 22, million-seller idol Huang Renjun._

_Wong Yukhei, 23, manager to million-seller idol Huang Renjun._

_~~Huang Renjun, 30, ?~~ _

_Wong Yukhei, 31, married, father to two kids_.

“I don’t want that,” Yukhei declares, sounding eerily like a promise, pushing the unwanted reverie away. As he tries to collect his thoughts, he brings back his focus _here_ : five hours ago, Renjun’s body had paid the toll of pushing beyond his health limits, and Yukhei had died, somewhat. _Here_ : Renjun is looking a little tired and that means he should go back to sleep now.

“You just said you would.”

“No,” Yukhei shakes his head, “I said _what if_. As in, what if I had lived a life without you?” _Here_ : just Renjun, and that’s enough for Yukhei; there aren’t enough heavens or earths more than he’d wish to stay next to Renjun, touched and touching him - “I can’t imagine that.”

“You really plan on staying with me?” Renjun glances at his hand—the one where skin is pierced through, and connected to the IV drip—then whispers as his eyes flutter with sleep, “Really, Xuxi-ge? Have you no love for yourself?”

“I have enough,” Yukhei rushes, trying to steal as many extra minutes of Renjun as possible before he’s whisked away to hours of singing and dancing and carrying a burden he doesn’t want to share. “Enough for me, enough for you. Us… enough for the both of us.”

“That doesn’t seem fair,” Renjun yawns, his eyes gathering tears and cranes his head to the left to weakly smile at Yukhei. It’s a painful sight, so Yukhei hurries by his side. “It’s not fair to you. If I wanted our bones to lie together in our graves, would you grant that request?”

( _Yes._ )

Yukhei brackets one of Renjun’s hands in his, leaning in, and the latter reaches up to brush his fingers over the scruff of his neck, playing with the ends of his hair before dipping beneath the neck of his shirt. The blush on his face is something Yukhei knows all too well: usually blooming on his cheeks before he pulls Yukhei in a kiss, hot and desperate and confined by time.

“Renjun,” Yukhei begs. More muffled beeps outside. Distracting.

“You know, after all these years of travelling,” Renjun says distantly, staring back at the ceiling, “I just remembered something about continental drift.”

“ _Renjun_.”

“Indulge in my stupid ramblings for a bit, yeah? Anyways, yeah, the drift: continents breaking apart, falling away. Still standing now, of course, but separated. This feels like it.”

“This?”

“ _This_. You wanting to stay with me. And you know… of course, you know that I don’t - I don’t want to peel myself away from you. But I’m worried and - and I’m just… so unsure. None of us know what’s going to happen if we _do_ happen because every single second we’ll have to cautiously walk on our toes and _shit_ , yeah, we do that now—even worse if you think about it because we’re…” Renjun lowers his voice, “sleeping together.”

“Where are you going with this?” Yukhei asks slowly so his voice doesn’t tremble. His hands around Renjun’s does, and if the latter notices it, he doesn’t say anything. “We aren’t the continental drift. We’re not pangea.”

“I’m just saying I’m scared. Xuxi-ge,” Renjun closes his eyes, “sometimes I think half of my soul feels like it’s yours.”

( _Huang Renjun, 21, half of Wong Yukhei?_ )

Renjun’s mother enters the room. Yukhei leaves to give them privacy.

* * *

**Renjun** _9:13 p.m._ _  
_can i come over?

**Me** _9:13 p.m._ _  
_You never asked through text before  
What’s different now?

**Renjun** _9:17 p.m._ _  
_can’t a guy politely ask the homie if he can stay over the night  
sheesh  
i just don’t want sex tonight

**Me** _9:19 p.m._ _  
_That’s new lol  
Want me to pick you up?

**Renjun** _9:20 p.m._ _  
_shut up  
also no it’s fine  
pizza or chicken? i’m bringing dinner  
ur okay with that right? dinner with me?

**Me** _9:20 p.m._ _  
_Both  
Also  
Dinners with you are lovely

**Renjun** _9:20 p.m._ _  
_fdkhlkw@ld  
sorry phone fell _  
_ok  
dance ends in half an hour

**Me** _9:21 p.m._ _  
_See you

* * *

(Yukhei makes brunch for two the next day.)

* * *

It all starts on Christmas eve, when Yukhei answers his apartment door, and though half of Renjun’s face was covered by his scarf, Yukhei could see he was grinning ear-to-ear—holding a mini Christmas as tall as his leg. He asks, to the tune of _Do You Wanna Build a Snowman?_ , “Do you wanna decorate a tree?”

More specifically, though, it starts when Yukhei was thinking of what to write on the next postcard ( _polaroid_ , to be exact—he remembered Jaemin had given him a polaroid of pre-debut Renjun with smile so wide Yukhei could hear him laughing, filling his body with a warm buzz) just two hours ago, and the _Merry christmas, dork!_ _Look how cute you WERE hah_ he’d plan on writing down had become _When did I realize I was in love with you?_

But that’s a task the Greek gods will have to give him another day.

Right now:

After excessively accessorizing their little tree (“Who made the rule that there has to be _one_ star on the top? What if I want more stars? Fools.” / “Your highness! What splendid language you have there.” / “Bring forth the star ornaments, Sir Yukhei!”), Yukhei had placed it next to his television while Renjun had gone to the bathroom to draw a bath.

After a while, Yukhei goes to check up on him, peeking his head through the door. Renjun motions him to come in; pointing to the dry space next to the bathtub for him to sit on. His bathroom isn’t much: it’s small, white-tiled, and there’s a tiny window above Renjun for ventilation. Embarrassingly, his shower curtains are transparent and goldfish-patterned. He reminds himself to change the old lightbulb, too. 

As he grabs the plastic stool in the corner and sits where Renjun had wanted him to, he wonders if Renjun knows of the grace he possesses. Like the way he could make this miniature bathroom look like a photoshoot set. The way he could make Yukhei feels like he’s drowning even when he’s not the one in the bathtub.

“Remember when—” Renjun begins, laughing as he leans in to rest his arms on the knees, brought up closer to his chest, the water sloshing around, “I barged into your hotel room at, like, 1 in the morning, and we accidentally scared each other?”

“Yeah. Osaka,” Yukhei smiles. “That was ridiculous.”

The way the bubble foam covers Renjun’s body has an effect of being spellbinding. Yukhei could find himself fucking him into the mattress again and again but he’ll never be able to flush away the crimsonness he feels forming on his cheeks when he sees him.

(It’s like Yukhei was designed to be enraptured by such: Renjun shyly smiling as his legs intimately bracket Yukhei’s waist, Renjun half-gasping when Yukhei brushes the dips of his vertebrae—just big enough for his fingertips, Renjun naked in his waters—like the moon undressing her nightclouds, flirting endlessly with an unseen lover.)

Renjun boops him on the nose, a chortle bouncing off the walls when Yukhei doesn’t even try to wipe off the soap. The colour of his eyes matches with the shade of nighttime outside the window; a bit of moonlight illuminating each curve of the bath bubbles, like the water nymphs had carefully weaved each one like their most proud, most colourful work of art.

“I jumped ten feet in the air, you know.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Yukhei snorts. “Why’d you come into my room, anyways?”

“I was… cold,” Renjun says slowly, sounding unsure. He curls into himself a little, and Yukhei is one heartbeat away from going into the bathtub to keep him warm. He grips the hem of his shirt to stay put.

“You could’ve… just turned the heater up.”

“I could,” Renjun leans away from him, resting his head on the white-tiled wall. Yukhei undergoes what he guesses is akin to sinking into quicksand. Renjun’s eyes are now wet with unshed tears as he looks at Yukhei. “So, why didn’t I? Why _did_ I go to you?”

“Renjun, I - I never said you couldn’t. You can always come back to me.”

Yukhei says it like he means he could come back home. Maybe it’s exactly that. Home: like the puzzle-perfect locks of his fingers between his; like the solace he feels when Renjun plants his face in the crook of his neck; like decorating a Christmas tree together on a cold night.

Slowly, he moves to cup his hand around Renjun’s cheeks and jaw, bringing him closer. Renjun smells like victory, like magic, like laughter, and Yukhei wonders if there was ever a time when he _wasn’t_ in love with Renjun.

“You’d… help,” Renjun croaks.

Yukhei tries his best not to plant a kiss on his temple. “Yes. Of course.” Placing his chin on the crown of his head, he promises, “I’ll always try to alleviate any of your burdens. I’m your manager.”

Renjun stiffens for a bit, before releasing a sigh with a shudder. Pulling away, he taps Yukhei by the arms awkwardly, wetting his shirt with bubble foam and soap water, “We’d always be like this, huh? Using each other to forget… our problems. How’s Kunhang, by the way?”

Yukhei furrows his eyebrows. “I haven’t thought of him in so long,” he easily admits, but Renjun’s question leaves fire in its wake. “You know, just because you didn’t debut with Triple J doesn’t mean you’re any less amazing. You’re a great artist, Renjunnie.”

“Oh,” Renjun says, staring back at the bubble foam, “Now, this feels more one-sided than ever.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Nothing, nothing. I’m… going back home. Could you prepare some clothes?”

“…You’re not going to stay over?”

“No,” Renjun says, a little too quickly, and Yukhei feels like his lungs have been filled up with water. “I’m… I’m really tired.”

“Ah,” Yukhei nods, and he lets himself drown, pulled down by a siren—Renjun’s song sounding like paradise on the way to purgatory. “Okay. Sure.”

(Two hours later, Yukhei opened a random book—one he only bought solely for trying to make his muck of a television area a little bit better—to a random page, and snuck the polaroid of pre-debut Renjun in it before slamming the book shut. He finds himself gripping the spine a little bit too hard, and feels the dark cruelty of _something_ lick through him.)

* * *

Over the first two weeks of January, the company had called Yukhei three times.

Once, to inform him of a slight change in schedule because Chenle had decided to extend Triple J’s comeback—unsure of how long exactly—and that Yukhei is to prepare for any clashes with Mark. Second, to remind _him_ to remind _Renjun_ to be cautious with what he’s posting online, because the photos he’s posted on Twitter were deemed inappropriate (Renjun had nonchalantly messaged Yukhei about this, actually: _remember when i dressed up as bunny girl senpai? ㅋㅋㅋ / i’m posting this~ 🙊 / omg i’m trending / is this who we are? is this what we represent? 🤠_ ).

The third, horrifyingly, was about a video posted on a discussion forum.

* * *

🏠 > Forums > everything_kpop > K-POP  
Discussion: [HUANG RENJUN] Leaving a love hotel? **  
**Tags: huang renjun, dream entertainment

[media attached: 1 video]

OP: Taken on Christmas eve… I thought I was imagining it but it was really Huang Renjun who left a LOVE HOTEL with a GUY… 헐… What do you think?

1\. [+3421, -23] Perfect Idol-ssi! You’re a slut ㅋㅋㅋ

2\. [+3219, -22] I mean, even idols need stress relief. Just wished he covered himself more? He’s a top idol in Asia and the best thing he could do for ‘disguise’ is a mask… What are his fans going to think when they see this?

Reply: Feeling betrayed that’s for sure…

3\. [+2891, -42] Why would you even record this? Idol or not, isn’t that weird? Why were you outside there too LOL

4\. [+2997, -77] Video is in poor quality to be making hasty assumptions. OP, go buy a new phone♡

5\. [+2438, -97] The ‘guy’ thing doesn’t really shock me… Renjun’s mentioned a few times he doesn’t have any preferences.

Reply: Weren’t those just jokes? Fanservice, at best.

6\. [+1746, -25] Eh… Really thought he and his manager were a thing… Always had a feeling. Was it just me?

Reply: Yeah, just you LOL Idols and managers shouldn’t cross lines

Reply: Even I’m not this delusional ㅋㅋ

* * *

Love • [luhv] **antonym.**

You don’t understand. His number is unreachable. There are tear stains on your notebook.

* * *

Yukhei wonders how many times more could he possibly live through a tragedy, how much eternity is left for him to roll the stupid boulder up the hill for it to come back down and crush him.

Calamity—a tale as old as time, a song as old as rhyme—really does have a way with being present throughout the ages: Orpheus looks back, Sisyphus is condemned, Yukhei gets called up to Chenle’s office while Renjun actively avoids him.

It’s terrible, the way Yukhei feels as if he’s forced to go back in time—like nothing ever happened between Renjun and him. It’s terrible, because _everything_ happened.

Until the video fiasco, he’d really thought he and Renjun would end up _somewhere_ sometime in the very near future. Maybe enough to say they were more than a couple of friends who benefitted from each other, but not so much that they could say they were anything _beyond_. Couldn’t their relationship be another cliché, like the songs Renjun sings and make covers of? Like those books Yukhei had binge-read during high school?

Before, they were dancing on a tightrope and even if they fell, it’d be alright because they have each other to hold on to, and there would probably be a large cushion to break their fall, like Yukhei’s skanky couch back in his apartment. Now -

The fruit tree pulls away, the water evaporates. Tantalus starves.

Yukhei is left alone to deal with Chenle. Last time, whether he felt like it was better or not, Kunhang was with him. Renjun isn’t. How the hell is he going to explain all this to the CEO? (Yes, we fucked. No, I didn’t know he’d fuck someone else. Yes, I tried calling him. No, I don’t know where he is right now.)

Turns out, he didn’t need to. Yukhei doesn’t focus much on what Chenle is saying; just bits and pieces of being lucky because the video blew over quicker than expected and that it had already been taken down last night. When he asked about Renjun, Chenle had only sighed and answered, “He asked for a week off. Let’s give him some space.”

Yukhei was dismissed afterwards.

* * *

By the end of February, on a nice Thursday night, Renjun tries to kill himself.

At least, that’s how Yukhei saw it.

You can’t blame him for being more dramatic than is justified: Renjun had his eyes closed, and he was leaning way too dangerously against the metal bars. From his stance itself, Yukhei knew his feet weren’t firm on the ground, and that if he doesn’t hurry, Renjun is going to, well.

The assumed bubble of serenity on Renjun’s face crumbles down into rubbles and a look of bewilderment replaces it when Yukhei quickly tugs him away from the railings. It feels outlandish, somewhat, that this is their first interaction after about a month of silly cat-and-mouse chase.

See, fear has Yukhei gripped by his collar, especially when it’s been weeks since he’s last seen Renjun, weeks since the video incident, weeks since Chenle had plainly laid out: “Dangerous. This thing between you and Renjun—it’s dangerous.” Fear has a thing of piercing through his senses, especially when no calls were being answered, messages were not read, and Jaemin had a calculating look on his face when he said, “I think I saw him on the balcony? On the 18th floor.”

Swallowing the torrent of words slamming against the roof of his mouth, he realizes he doesn’t know how to start now that he’s here with him. Doesn’t know _where_ , really.

Renjun does: “You scared me.”

It’s quiet, saved for the incongruous jingle-jangles of the traffic a few blocks from the company building. The balcony they’re on has its light turned off, assumingly by Renjun, and in the darkness, Yukhei leans in, presses his hands against the sides of Renjun’s face—the warmth of his face reminds him not to walk into a disaster with nerves exposed. “Just what the _hell_ were you doing?”

Renjun points to his AirPods. “Uh, listening to music?”

“By having your _entire_ body _limp_ against the metal bar?”

“It relaxes me,” Renjun furrows his eyebrows. Tonight, his eyes are beacons of lighthouses, searching the blues and indigos of the ocean. Yukhei knows he’s looking for an explanation in his. “God forbid if _I’m_ stressed. Do you think I’m a robot?”

“That’s not what I—” Yukhei cuts himself off, then turns his head away. Sighing, he crouches down, rubbing his temples as he does so. “What if you fell?”

“I didn’t,” Renjun tells him. Lowering himself on his knees, he traces a finger along Yukhei’s jawline—the touch ghostly, careful—before he throws his entire weight onto Yukhei. Wrapping his arms around his shoulders, he says, voice shaking, “I’m sorry. I made you worry, didn’t I?”

“You’re okay,” Yukhei says. He can’t help but feel his body rejoicing; lighting up in tiny buzzes that dance under his skin. He pulls Renjun closer, wanting his skin to melt against his, as the cold air passes by them throughout the night. “You’re okay now.”

Yukhei had spent years bracing himself for another collision, one that happened with the previous group he managed, and one that happened with Renjun. _I’m just saying I’m scared_ , Renjun’s words twist and turn in his head so much that he has every tone of each syllable memorized. What he doesn’t say back that day in the hospital is: _I’m scared, too._

He’s learned to keep up with Renjun and all the sides he would show only to him. (Sometimes his quiet ramblings become inside jokes. Yukhei loves when that happens.)

But Yukhei had forgotten that, before they had to walk on tightropes under the industry and had to tip-toe in the bedroom while holding each other by the grace of their fingertips, there was a moment in time where Yukhei had felt like he was speeding down empty highways at 3 a.m. with the windows rolled down and a lump in his throat. Yukhei forgets that Renjun had held his heart in between his fingertips. He forgets that he still does.

“I promise I was just listening to music. I wouldn’t - you know…” Renjun trails off, shifting to properly sit in his lap.

If Yukhei’s skin could be visually blotched from the scattered bits of Renjun’s warmth draped over his body right now, he’d be completely enveloped in burn marks. The more he focuses on how close, close, _close_ they are as of right now, the wildfire rippling beneath his skin runs along, playing tag and burning forests down to nothing but ashes. He’s sure sunlight (the kind that peeks out during cloudy winter days, the kind that drips from Renjun’s smile when he gets praised by the staff) is spilling down the vertebrae of his spine—slow like lava, sweltering like a volcano on the verge of eruption.

“Yeah, I know,” he says, and tries to burn even slower.

“I’ve missed you,” Renjun whispers then, conspiratorially, lips jutted out and Yukhei stops himself from leaning in for a kiss. “I missed waking up beside you.”

Instead, Yukhei lets out an empty laugh—a bitter chuckle, if you may—against Renjun’s shoulder. He lowers his head a little. “Does that mean I’m better than the guy on Christmas eve?” He can’t help but have nightmares of what probably happened that night; he can imagine Renjun’s head thrown back against Stranger’s shoulder, throat shiny with sweat, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure. Stranger would thrust his hips, biting at Renjun’s neck while Renjun moans out a name that isn’t Yukhei or Xuxi-ge or -

Feeling pathetic, Yukhei checks for marks the colour of bruises on Renjun’s neck, anyways.

There aren’t any.

Renjun grabs him by the shoulders to make him look at him. “Xuxi-ge, listen. I never… I never actually slept with anyone that night. I tried, but it didn’t feel right. I was leaving when that video—”

“You tried, and you went, anyways,” Yukhei says. He’s not angry—there’s no point in being so—just terribly anguished, resigned to let the currents of the ocean lead him to his grave on the seabed. Blinking away hot tears, he turns around to look - well, to try _not_ to look at Renjun. There’s a new billboard next to the building. There are two pigeons perched on top of a car parked below it. Renjun is clenching his jacket from behind, he feels it. He’s drowning again, pulled by the sirens again, he’s going to wake up with punctured lungs again. “You could have told me you’d want to try with other people. I could - I could help you—hide you from the media, pick you up myself to avoid unwanted gazes. I would lie to Chenle for you. I’d ask Donghyuck for tips to cover up any marks on your neck.”

“Xuxi-ge.”

“The least you could do was _tell me_ , Renjun-ah.”

“ _Xuxi-ge_ ,” Renjun whimpers. When Yukhei finally turns to look at him again, he breaks into a loud cry, wailing as tears flow down uncontrollably like an insistent waterfall; every intake of breath is brittling and Yukhei’s entirety _shatters_ at the sound of it. “Xuxi-ge, I - I didn’t — I wanted - I w’nted to tell you—” The world around them blurs, and Yukhei lets him weep in his arms; Renjun blubbering as he’s slowly reduced to just snivels. Yukhei can tell he’s done when he’s all droopy in his arms a few minutes later.

Slowly, Yukhei then wipes away Renjun’s tears with his forearm, eyes going soft at the way his face is now red and wet—with skin imprints after he had tucked himself into the crook of Yukhei’s space. Renjun’s hiccups are the only sounds reverberating through the lonely night. _Lonely_ , because it reminds Yukhei of the times Renjun would get up and leave.

(Perhaps to love is to learn and understand inevitability. Yukhei doesn’t understand how he’s meant to endure that.)

Deciding to end the silence, he says, “Renjun-ah.” Cradling his face in his palms, second nature at this point (his heart churns every time he thinks someone else could do this, too), he kisses his drenched-in-tears eyes, “Tell me. Please, tell me.”

“I’m s’rry,” Renjun rasps. “I don’t - I don’t want this anymore.”

(Iron is heavy on Yukhei’s tongue, and he wonders if people would taste blood when they’re drowning. The siren that kissed him on the way to hell had forced him to swallow a spoonful of bitter ambrosia and the burden of mortality. _Time is forever_ , the siren had whispered, _wouldn’t you be more lucky to find out this love is temporary? But oh, you’d already know that. You deluded yourself_.)

Yukhei’s hands aggressively weave through his hair. “I really _did_ delude myself, huh. Thinking we could be anything but—”

Renjun shushes him with a hand on his mouth. “Let me finish,” he sniffles, still trying to blink dried-up tears. Snot is trailing down his mouth, but Yukhei still thinks he’s beautiful, in a way that he wouldn’t be able to go home unless he knew Renjun is waiting on his stupid couch. He’ll call out _I’m home_ , and greeting Renjun will have him feel really, really full. Content. At ease. Renjun leans his forehead against Yukhei’s, continuing, “I want… I want the benefits. I still do. I want them and everything else.”

“You’re not making sense.”

“I love you, Xuxi-ge,” Renjun breathes out, and Yukhei breaks through the surface of the ocean.

“Wait—” he says, but hope is a fleeting thing: once it learns how to fly, it _goes_.

“I really do. More than a manager type of thing. More than a friend who sleeps with you kind of thing. You’ve ruined me, Xuxi-ge,” he sighs melancholically as Yukhei moves to lay back on the floor, hands over his face. Renjun hovers on top of him, tracing his fingers as he maps out the constellations on his chest. “I don’t think I could let anyone else do that to me.”

“Huang Renjun, you… you are such a sappy, dramatic romantic, what the _hell_ ,” Yukhei shrieks, and Renjun laughs through his sniffles; loud and obnoxious and endearing. He wraps his arms around Renjun, anchoring himself as he replaces the water in his lungs with oxygen. “I’m sorry I made you cry.”

Renjun shakes his head. “No, _I’m_ sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I thought if I’d slept with someone else, it would have felt just the same, and I wouldn’t have to worry about us. But really, I’m not lying when I tell you I wouldn’t want anyone else. The earth was made for lovers, and I believed my soul had been yours from the beginning.”

Yukhei breathes out, feeling floaty and at a loss for words. How deeply stained his body is by someone who believes in other-halfs. Renjun has him thinking: if there was a one-in-a-million chance he’d only seen Renjun _once_ , he’d still long through worlds for him. “Wait, are those song lyrics?”

“ _Shh_ , it would be a spoiler!” Renjun smiles, wiping his snot with the back of his hand. “Xuxi-ge, we should head back inside. I need tissues.”

“Definitely.” Standing up, he helps Renjun get back on his feet as well. They don’t immediately exit the balcony, though. Instead, Yukhei places his hands courteously on Renjun’s waist while the latter brings his arms up to rest around Yukhei’s shoulder. Together, they sway. Someone from the building up close could have a radio that only played station static, and Renjun could still find a way to have Yukhei dance with him. Placing his forehead against Renjun’s, Yukhei asks, “What if someone takes a photo of us up here?”

Renjun grins. It’s as if someone had flung pixie dust above them: his lips are more ruby-coloured than usual and Yukhei can smell his shampoo wafting through the freezing air. “We’d be called up to the lion’s den again. I wonder what face Chenle would make if we started making out in the middle of his office.”

“ _Please_ , let’s not,” Yukhei suppresses a laugh, spinning Renjun around slowly. While the chances of the stars above having to align for them to meet is considerably distant and that they’re nothing more than products of _chance_ , Yukhei will allow himself to believe fates had worked some miracle; especially, when Renjun’s entirety feels like what moonlight does to lovers.

“We deserve the excitement of being a secret, Xuxi-ge, don’t you think so?”

“You’re just an exhibitionist.” 

“You’ve ruined the moment!” Yukhei feigns being stabbed when Renjun pokes at his chest. “And so what if I am? Do you wanna try fucking in the car next schedule? I’m down for that.”

They found themselves laughing again, and for this one moment, it seemed like a celebration; a grand, illicit party only the both of them were holding after the moon and stars had been put to sleep.

Yukhei holds out his hand, “I’ll stick with kissing for now.”

“That’s not a _No_ I’m hearing,” Renjun takes it, lacing their fingers together.

“I’m going insane,” Yukhei smiles, before pressing Renjun up against the wall and kissing him breathless. “I love you, I love you, _goddamn_ , I’m in love with you. Come on, let’s get dinner.” It’s not a comeback season, anyways, and Renjun deserves a full warm meal—one filled with love. “What do you think about hotpot, tonight?”

“Xuxi-ge,” Yukhei swears Renjun’s eyes just twinkled, “ _fuuuck_ me, please.”

* * *

(Renjun’s peeling mandarins from where he’s sitting on Yukhei’s couch when Yukhei comes back from the kitchen, holding up a postcard. “This one’s for Osaka. You know—when you scared me out of my wits.”

“That’s going to stick with us forever, huh?” Renjun licks the juices off his fingers. “Also, _you_ scared _me_ , okay. It’s a road that goes both ways type of situation. Anyways,” he grabs a tissue to wipe his hands, “what did you write this time?”

Yukhei hands him the postcard (a stunning shot of the Hogwarts castle at Universal Studios) before plopping down next to him, draping the blanket over their legs.

“ _Let’s make brilliant memories_ ,” Renjun reads, smiling as he turns his head to kiss Yukhei on the cheek. “And it’s the one with the Harry Potter school. Does this mean you agreed to dressing up as Cedric Diggory next Halloween? You’d be a cute Hufflepuff.”)

* * *

Love • [luhv] **origin.**

“My type, huh?” There’s a pause, the silence after plunging into cold water. “Someone like you. Maybe.”

“Maybe? I’m both offended and flattered,” he smiles, and your world tilts on its axis. It feels, at the moment, like time belongs to him, even when time is an illusion, and time is limiting, and time is unkind. “That’s so lame, Xuxi-ge. But… I think you’re my type, too.”

You look at him, hoping your cheeks aren’t as cherrypink as you believe. “What a coincidence.”

“Shut up,” he laughs. _Love_ , you think. You are in -

**Author's Note:**

> 2020 was rlly something, so i wish for a better 2021 for u all [♡](https://youtu.be/HpxX4ZE4KWE)
> 
> p.s. i’m more active on tumblr than twt bc no matter how words i mute or accs i block, i keep seeing bts hate/subtweets on my tl 🤨 i’m tired
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/yangiebff) | [tumblr](https://weonderful.tumblr.com/) | [cc](https://curiouscat.me/weonderlust)


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